Bought or Stolen?
by FearandLoathingXIX
Summary: BalthierxAshe: A leading man must always stock a variety of skills, some rather surprising, so that he may play his hand at a number of trades, breaking hearts included.
1. Hairdress

**Bought or Stolen?**

As the engines of the Strahl hum soothingly below Ashe's feet, she wrings out her wet hair having just emerged from a well deserved shower, very thankful that the moogles filled the airship up with a supply of hot clean water before they left the aeroport.

_Actually…_

She thinks as she runs her fingers through her hair to separate out some of the knots.

_This hair is getting a bit on the long side…_

Ashe always hated having long hair, as it used to invite being _pulled_ by her brothers when she was a child, and being an irritable tomboy of a princess she so hated to have it brushed or braided by anyone.

She remembers one disastrous occasion in her childhood when in the heat of summer one year, (after she had been persuaded to let it grow to a reasonable length for once) in a fit of discomfort she had taken a pair of scissors from her nurse's sewing box and cut it all off at ear-level; oh how her nurse had wept at the golden hair all over the floor and the impish-looking eleven year-old brandishing a pair of scissors defiantly at her.

Whenever she had just woken up for some time after that she usually looked so distinctly dishevelledthat her brothers used to say there was a dead chocobo in the room, its feathers sticking out all over the place…and then often adding something about the smell.

Ashe consequentially learned to fight from a very early age, but then she learnt how much she really did love each one of her brothers when she lost them to the war…

_Rassler too of course…_

She reminds herself of this autonomously, adding that she never fought with him…never havinghad the chance to_. _She wanders out into the cabin to find Balthier stretched out languorously over the controls of his airship; this trip over to the Ridorana Cataract will take at least a day and he merely watches the meters to check the new skystone doesn't do anything untoward to his ship,

"Ahh, Princess," he greets her without turning. "Enjoy your shower? I expect that the rest of us will now have to suffice with cold ones if the steam _you_ managed to produce is anything to go by," he teases with a gesture to the fogged up windows. She sits sideways in Fran's chair next to him and drags her fingertips roughly through her hair again, finding it at that length which is just long enough to produce the most unreasonable tangles in almost no time at all.

"Perhaps you should offer to share with someone to save water," she retorts, and he gives her a pitiful glance.

"I would expect _nothing_ but a black eye from such a proposition," he replies nonchalantly, and Ashe wonders if she may have misread the relationship between Balthier and his partner; feeling slightly embarrassed by this she pulls at her hair again.

"_And" _he says with a grimace, "you will _break_ your hair manhandling it like that_." _He speaks with a tinge of distaste, for he has been studying her awhile now.

"It's too long," she comments bluntly, and then winces as her fingers catch a knot near her back of her neck,

"Isn't it the fashion of Princesses to have _long flowing locks?" _he questions, grimacing every time her hands catch, how he longs to simply take a brush to it and stop this torture, but he resists for now.

"Flowing locks are not so practical in the real world" she answers, taking a mat and pulling it apart, as the residual water rolls down her fingers and forearm.

"So... you would not consider palace life the _real world_ then?" he asks, starting grind his teeth through his grin and knowing he cannot take much more of this,

"Well…no…" she replies awkwardly. "It is a _different_ world at the very least." She takes an especially violent tug at a knot, and as a hunk of the fine strands snaps Balthier suddenly leaps up from his chair as if her had been stung.

"Stay there and _don't_ touch anything!" he snaps, disappearing off down the hall as she wonders what could have provoked such an outburst. He returns a few minutes later with a rolled up piece of colourfully embellished fabric, inviting the princess's curiosity as he unwraps the bundle and she discovers that within its folds lie a set of engraved silver hairbrushes. He studies the arrangement carefully for some time, then takes a long handled brush decisively and strides up to her, turning her head around so that the back faces him.

"For gods sake just let _me_ do it," he mutters angrily, and pulls the brush down the back of her head. She had no brushes of her own, evidently, but he simply could not bear to watch her ripping at it like this any longer. Although he thought she would be thankful for his offer, Ashe she hunches up and drops her head the moment he puts the brush to her hair.

"No, Balthier," she pleads. "I cannot _bear_ to have anyone brush my hair."

"I may have noticed that," he remarks crossly, and then places his hands on her shoulders to lower them. He lifts a lock of soft, damp hair then very gently persuades it through the bristles of the brush.

Normally she would've pushed away any man _or_ woman who even _dared _to try and comb her hair for her, but Balthier is so very gentle that Ashe can barely feel it, and seeing as she had nothing to brush her hair with herself, and her hands were not making much good, she begrudgingly allows him to do so. There is only one other person she remembers being able to _let_ brush her hair for her, which was her mother, but she supposes that just this once she can make an exception – before she tears her own hair out.

One could suppose Balthier's hidden fascination with hair started with _his_ mother, who lacking a daughter used to _oblige_ her son brush her hair every morning and evening for the best part of ten years; it was always considered a chore in the young boy's eyes and she had such a sensitive scalp he learnt quickly how to tame the most hideous knots without receiving more than a short reprimand or occasionally a sharp rap across the knuckles with a comb from the daunting woman known as his mother.

She abruptly disappeared one day…to a mixture of relief and regret from the seventeen year-old boy destined to become a Judge, but at least he wasn't brushing hair anymore.

The realreason he was doing this now was quite simply because of Fran; for never in his life had he seen such a beautiful or unruly head of hair as that of the Viera, and it was a particularly calming activity to tame it, not least when she refused to do it herself while he was so willing and well-equipped, as the brushes he had now were those of his mother.

He switched through a variety of the brushes in the pack, teasing Ashe's hair this way and that until eventually he could pass a comb so fine you could not see the space between the prongs through any given section of her delightfully soft hair.

Fran's was beautifully _wild_, each hair strong and tough like it were made of drawn metal, but Ashe's was gently inviting; _too _inviting, for his wandering mischiefs. He stealthily sneaks the scissors from the folds of the material and winds a lock about his fingers then trims a few inches from it to the floor,

"Balthier what was _that_?" she asks threateningly, and he sweeps the upper layer of her hair away to expose the darker curtain around her neck, then deftly flicks the blades around her skin and a haze of hairs rain down onto the floor of the cabin,

"You _said_ it was too long Princess," he answers with a smirk. "I'm merely fulfilling the lady's wishes." She tries to stand up but he holds her into her seat and eventually forces her to relent; holding the scissors between his teeth he withdraws another comb from the pack.

"Do you have _any_ idea of what you're doing?" she questions worriedly, and Balthier chuckles as he begins slicing off larger chunks merrily, spiking a pit of dread in Ashe's stomach which rises to her throat as the blades flash tantalizingly close to her ears and the cold metal brushes against the skin of her neck,

"How do you think Fran retains those fabulous curls?" he whispers in her ear, combing her fringe out over her eyes and tickling her nose,

"You mean…" she starts.

"Beautiful hair…" he sighs as he interrupts her, "but _impossible_ to cut alone…luckily enough for her, a leading man stocks a great range of skills, so that he may play his hand at a _variety_ of trades."

He turns Ashe's head around slightly and begins to feathers the tips of her hair, until the quiet clicks draw near to her jaw, when he spins her around to face him fully, then kneels down before her, holding his face remarkably close to hers with a look of pure concentration as he frames her face with a halo of wisp-like cuts.

She is entranced; she unwinds under the casual methodical touch of another Hume, finding herself relaxing as he leans closer to cut her fringe, so close that she can feel his breath on her face. He speaks in a soft, silky voice, the one you know could talk you into _anything _if he tried hard enough.

"If you would close your eyes…'" he instructs, and they flutter shut obediently as he runs her fringe over his fingers and the snipping continues across her face, making tiny mists of hair fall down her face as she feels his breath again on her lips.

Suddenly another pair touch against them; as Balthier has let the scissors swing from his finger and softly kisses her.

It had been well over two years since Ashe ever kissed anyone, and what she feels most is shock, then surprise that someone would want her in a time and place like this, and then she feels the crushing betrayal of her Rassler in letting her kiss be given to another man. She pulls away quickly.

"Ah, Princess, I should have warned you that is part of the service," he teases, a wicked smirk on his face without an ounce of respect for the fact that she is a widow.

He raises his hand and makes a final tweak to her fringe, then blows over her face to rid it of any trimmings and sets about reorganizing and repacking the ornate brushes. Ashe sits in stunned silence as he slips the ornaments all into their specific pouches, and she notices how exquisite the tools he has used are.

"Bought or stolen?" she asks cruelly.

"What do you think?" he asks coolly, standing and dusting the wisps of now silver hair off his clothes in the dim cabin light.

"I think nothing of any _real_ beauty can be purchased," she answers resentfully, angry with him for kissing her but not wanting to name it by bringing it up.

"How wonderfully true…" he replies with a secretive smile as she brushes together a small pile of cuttings with her feet, running her fingers through her 'new' hair and finding the length almost perfect_. _"They're stolen, of course," he finishes with an amused grin.

"I could have guessed," she scorns, and Balthier strongly considers just grabbing Ashe and throwing her over the control panel, kissing her with all his conjured passion because he wants to know what she'll _do; _however he doesn't get a chance to find out, as there comes a gentle tap at the door and Penelo sleepily steps halfway into the cabin.

"Um…Balthier?" she mumbles drousily, "Fran says she's on her way out to keep watch, so you can get some sleep."

"Thank you, Penelo," he says warmly, dusting his fingers over her shoulder as he passes her – Ashe wonders if there isn't a female he will not harass with his charms.

"Are you okay Ashe?" Penelo asks as she is passed by the princess in the doorway. "What were you doing in the cabin?"

'Nothing' she says coldly, and makes her way towards her bed in the dark, which is lucky considering the colour she blushes

* * *

'Dances her celebratory 20th fic dance'

Edited 21/01/10


	2. Play music

What you do with these chapters to make sense of them is go 'Balthier can (insert chapter title)' and there you go!

Alternately you can go 'Balthier can do ANYHING!!!!!!!!' if like me you are a screaming fangirl**

* * *

**

As Balthier manoeuvres the Strahl to land on the Ridorana Cataract through some turbulent winds, Ashe hunches over in the back seat clutching her stomach as a pained groan escapes her lips, tender from being anxiously bitten all morning.

'Hey Ashe are you alright?' Vaan asks uncertainly, not keen on having to sit next to a chronically motion-sick person _even _if they are _royalty_. She feels a cold sweat break out all over her skin and an acidic taste burns in her mouth; just about managing to shake her head weakly at Vaan he proceeds to tap Penelo lightly on the shoulder,

'What is it?' she asks, but seeing Ashe's sorry state understands and tries to inform the others, 'Um…guys?' she is drowned out by the wind and engines, so she raises her voice a fraction, 'Ashe doesn't feel so good…' she continues to be ignored as Ashe's head pounds and her hands start to shake,

'**HEY**!' Vaan yells irritably, which is fair enough considering _he _is the one who has to sit next to her _and_ any bodily fluids she reproduces. Fran's head snaps around while Balthier's remains steadily trained on the approaching land, and seeing the nauseous princess stands up from her seat and very gingerly leads Ashe towards the front of the ship and the windows,

'Keep your eyes on the land,' she coos, 'take deep breaths…'

'Fran what's wrong with her?' Balthier snaps through his concentration,

'Your poor skills as a pilot have left her ill,' she retorts as she runs her hand soothingly through Ashe's hair,

_It's been cut._

Fran notices,

_There is only one person on this ship who does that…_

'Thank you for _Fran_.' He mutters condescendingly, frowning out of the windows at the swaying horizon, with a smile she notices the tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in an effort to focus. Understanding more than _anybody_ how little Balthier reads into cutting a woman's hair, _(and remembering how severely she mistook his 'intentions' the first time he offered to it for her), _she still cannot help thinking him suspect to some_ ulterior _motives with Ashe, having caught him staring at her with that _particular_ gaze of his on one _more _than one occasion; she knows better than to question him during suck a tricky landing and waits instead until they reach the land, coaxing a shaky Ashe along to safety by her hands. The moment the princesses feet touch solid ground they crumble underneath her, she collapses onto her knees gasping heavily and burying her face in her hands, ruing the day she _ever _boarded an airship,

_But it appears that the way to get seating privileges on the Strahl is to be sick, not kiss the pilot…_

She thinks to herself ironically as the sun begins to warm the icy perspiration off her skin, her strength and pride beginning to circulate her system once again; Fran stands by her partner and they make casual small-talk as she recuperates,

'That's a nice haircut she has _isn't it_?' she comments; he understands her drift and detects the intonation in her voice,

'She was treating it so roughly, that I had _half a mind_ to cut it all off…' he light-heartedly replies,

'So what were the _other half_'_s _thoughts?' she quickly counters, knowing that he is dodging her question…_which tells her more than a truthful answer would,_

'It's _much_ less trouble than yours…_' _he teases as he twirls one of her snowy curls around his finger,

'Very well.' She concludes irritably, 'if want to tell me _that _way…' she flicks her head and hair out of his grasp, then her heels click sharply against the stones as she strides away from him along the path,

'_Fran_! You know you're the _only_ woman for me!' he cries flamboyantly after her. Ashe suddenly glances up at him through her fingers, which he notices and laughs gently, 'in a completely _unromantic _fashion of course, Princess…so don't fret your pretty little haircut about it' he says to her playfully, and she feels her cheeks burn behind her palms again.

_He's just teasing me, it means nothing._

She tries to convince herself as they begin the ascent of the Pharos at Ridorana, but tense memories of their brief kiss the night before keep replaying themselves in her mind, exciting the princess in her that squeals at the thought of the affections of such a charming and desirable man _(with the added factor of being forbidden, which tends to be an encouragement rather than a deterrent in most cases)_.

_You are going to be queen, are the fleeting fancies of a pirate worth that?_

She tells herself _they are not._ As they tackle one of the hardest obstacles of the Pharos, _the stairs. _By the time they have reached the second ascent every party member's legs are on fire, then the pain fades to the sensation of dragging two bags of sand up the endless flights as they relent to resting on one of the many platforms from sheer fatigue, _luckily_ it was free of any fiends for the time being. Ashe collapses onto the floor and swallows remedies in hopes of retrieving some of the feeling in her legs. Lain slumped against the wall of the suspended platform she feels like even if she _wanted _to move she couldn't, and she observes her comrades, (also her _friends_, she realizes) as they each rest and unwind in their individual ways; Vaan naps on Penelo's shoulder as she tightens her braids, Basch aimlessly sharpens his axe and _Balthier,_ she notices, is curled over a scrap of metal they looted from a Deidan, twirling a small tool around his fingers she sees him pressing it into whatever he is concealing with a determined expression, as he pores himself deeper into the secret pooled in his palms her curiosity is spiked,

'What is that Balthier? She questions innocently, and he suddenly recoils, unaware that he was being watched,

'Why it's nothing, Ashe' he replies hurriedly while burying it in his fists, 'and shouldn't we be pressing on? The stairs are still there whether we rest an hour or a day,' Vaan groans as his friend nudges him awake and they begin to climb the next exhausting flight; Ashe _attempts _to catch a glance at what Balthier is hiding from her, _but with no avail_. When they reach the third ascent the ink returns to their maps and it is decided where they will camp for the night,

'We will have to guard on shifts,' Reddas informs everyone, and seeing the crestfallen faces of the younger members of the party volunteers to take the first so they may sleep, Ashe ends up with the stretch in the very dead of the night, but she has no complaints as the most threatening places are often overcome with beautiful serenity at this time; she loves to sit in the quiet and order her thoughts in these bubbles of clarity that arise in the dark broth of her journey.

_The decision is mine, to destroy or to harness the power of the sun-cryst…_

Before she moves to lie down Ashe's thoughts are detached from her impending decision when she notices Balthier pulling a small crafted blade from the pouches about his waist, and rolling that fine pole between his fingers again, she wants desperately to leap to her feet and catch what he is doing but tiredness overcomes her desires for such things and sleep carries her to the dreams of her subconscious before she can discover his guarded secret.

Tonight Ashe dreams of Rabanastre and her wedding day, a dream she has had many times since and before she even _met _Rassler, she dreams of the fanfares and cheering as she should…but then looking into her beloved's eyes as they are pronounced man and wife this dream is altered, in the place where Rassler should stand there is nothing but the empty sky, she is deserted by the one man she thought she could trust when suddenly a flash catches the corner of her eye and she is drawn to witness the Strahl cutting across the skies in the vacancy left by her supposed betrothed, _'you're a pirate aren't you? Then steal me…' _

She wakes to what she assumes is another dream, disbelieving it to be the true Pharos because although the surroundings fit and she appears where she lay down to sleep, music pipes in her ears as she wakes to this secondary dream,

_What bizarre messages does this next fantasy contain?_

She asks herself; the music continues despite her rising and scraping her elbow roughly across the wall, the pain feeling real enough she rubs her eyes in confusion and mutters a curse at the stinging sensation that worsens as she presses her hand across the sore graze. It is now that Ashe realizes _whose _shift this is…and the consequential cause of the playing as the player is sat on the steps with his back turned to her. She stealthily creeps up behind Balthier and sees that he holds a small pipe to his lips,

_So __that's__ what he was hiding all day,_

His fingers flutter over the holes of the salvaged instrument dextrously as it sings a beautiful and merry tune to the gentle tapping of his foot against the step; he rests his forearms on his knees as his fingertips dance across the metal and his back rises and falls as he times his breath into the song, the notes echo harmoniously off the cavern walls until he is his own soloist and accompaniment. The tune he is playing is very obviously a dance, and she guesses a jig from its lively pace, as the melody hops and whirls she steals closer to the source of this beautiful music _(also its beautiful musician)_, and she sees that his eyes are closed, once again he is totally unaware of her watching him; his head bobs along with the tune and his lips part slightly with every slight intake of breath as she smiles and she sits down a step up from him, resting her head in her hands and listening to his wonderful skill. Unwittingly knocking a small stone off the step with her toes, it clatters noisily in interruption to his concert; his eye opens a crack and he glances at her derisively without stopping, but sighs and picks up the tempo, it flies along jovially and finishes with a rousing flurry of notes that astound Ashe with the required talent to perform such a piece, his fingers skip autonomously across the piping as he sounds the last bars of the song and pulls the whistle gently away from his lips,

'Should I not be charging you for this privilege, Princess?' he asks in his perfectly tuned voice as he rests the carved mouthpiece against his chin,

'You _could_ say that something of such beauty can _only _be stolen…' she replies softly, tucking her fingers between her knees to keep them warm, he bows his head in thanks and holds up the instrument in the dim light for her to see,

'A remarkably crude model,' he comments, 'you should hear me on a _real _feadóg stáin,' she smiles at him sweetly,

'I'm sure it is even _more_ worthy of waking up for in the middle of the night…' she flatters, and he returns the smile, not one of his atypical smug grins but a genuinely pleased _smile_ as he gestures for her to join him on the next step down,

'Did I wake you?' he says; secretly pleased that it was _her _he roused instead of any of the other party members,

'Yes…but no matter,' she realizes that is a phrase she has coined from him, and feels reluctant to admit how largely his words and advice have affected her over the journey, 'where did you learn to play?' she quickly changes the subject onwards, not wishing to dally in this place any longer,

'As a child,' he says nostalgically, 'it was rather fashionable among the Arcadian nobility to have _musical children_ perform like monkeys whenever they decided to throw dinner parties…' she hears the bitterness in his voice so attempts again to lighten the topic,

'I was _once_ forced into music lessons…' she reminisces to him, 'to keep me out of my brothers' way when they were learning how to play at war,' he turns to her in interest, delighting to find out little facts about her life he feels she would not share with just _anybody,_

'Did the young Princess show any musical prowess?' he questions amiably, spinning the pipe idly in-between his fingers,

'None whatsoever.' She replies with a grin, 'eventually they relented and let me take combat lessons instead,'

'I fear you are emasculating me, Ashe' he titters, 'I should _not_ like to become the _woman_ of our relationship…' he suddenly fears he's overstepped the line by naming the two of them as _a relationship,_ and he pauses in anticipation of being curtly corrected but she twists on her toes on the step to face him,

'Perhaps you need to assert your _dominance_ on me then?' she teases, releasing a heavy breath that drags her closer towards him, the pipe falls from his fingers and bounces piercingly on each step it collides with as he swiftly brings his hand up to her chin and tilts her lips up to his, holding her a single breath away from a kiss as he whispers,

'_Dominate __you__? I fear I may only_ _try_…' he draws her lips onto his and brushes them together warily at first, then again and more powerfully as the notes of the tune start to replay deviously in Ashe's mind as his hand rubs around her neck; his lips strain intensely against hers and on _this_ occasion he makes no effort to break away, showing her _exactly _how dominating _he_ can be as he lays possessive claim to her lips and everything he can find within them. But they are suddenly both drawn from the embrace by a loud and painful squeak, peering through the darkness the see the dim outline of a Chimera at the bottom of the steps, with the end of Balthier's pipe sticking out of its beak, 'why you saucy creature!' he cries, grabbing his gun from the steps on the other side of him and expertly cocking and aiming the pistol at the thieving bird, 'I put a lot of effort into _that_,' he fires the shot and the Chimera recoils backwards, rolling head over heels then scurrying off still emitting a very grating whistling noise from its smoking beak,

'Was that necessary?' she asks as he weaves his fingers through his own, but when she leans into him with intent to continue their little _rapport, _he presses a finger to her lips and stands up, signalling that she remains hidden here as he makes his way up the steps and confronts their stirring companions,

'No worry, I simply made sure that _that_ fiend doesn't come back this way for a good few days,' he explains brightly to the drowsy people he shook from unconsciousness,

'Whose turn is it?' mumbles Vaan through his hands as he kneads them across his face, Ashe is aware that it is probably hers judging by the dawn creeping over the horizon, which is fortunate enough seeing as she is already awake and would be unlikely to sleep after this _escapade_,

'Oh,' says Balthier very matter-of-factly, '_still mine of course…' _when everyone begins to settle again she grabs his legs and pulls them from underneath him, causing him to tumble roughly onto the steps in a manner that slightly confuses a half-awake Fran watching him falling down the stairs in such an _odd_ way.

_I will most likely find out what that is in the morning anyway…_

She decides before she going back to sleep; whereas on the _steps_ Balthier lies wide-awake on his back with the wind knocked out of him after being so roughly tackled by Ashe,

'I'm…never…playing…for you…again.' He manages to croak as he gasps for air, she traces her finger along his hairline gently,

'I'm _sure_ you will…' she whispers seductively.


	3. Shop

We love...Balthier...hehe...

* * *

Despite its most of its population consisting of pirates, Ashe finds the port at Balfonheim rather endearing at times, it is _colourful _at the very least. And because defeating the Bahamut is not going to be an easy task the party decided to divide and each person shop separately for provisions, Ashe browses the tecknik shops but gazes upon the shelves with an air of boredom, barely reading the characters on the manuscripts she counts her gil again, they were quite fortuitous ascending the Pharos at Ridorana and have plenty to spend on this occasion,_Scripts, scripts and more scripts…is there anything more uninteresting?_

'_Ashe,' _A voice says from behind her as she listlessly rubs her finger across the edge of a display window, it is in fact filthy and leaves a dark stain on her fingertip, 'it is a _wonderful _day outside, too wonderful to fritter inside dank and gloomy shops…' he continues

'So perhaps we should have a picnic then?' she says satirically, 'never mind the Bahamut, if the sun is shining then who are _you _to defy the weather?'

'_I_ am a man who knows the _worth_ of spending an afternoon outside in the fresh air rather than wasting it away in a cell,' he says nonchalantly,

'Then what do _you_ suggest _we do,_ Balthier? She studies his reflection on the glass in front of them as it flickers in the poor lighting of this claustrophobic shop, expecting a tease for her conspicuous wording or at least that characteristic smirk,

'I propose,' he answers carelessly, 'that we go _shopping._'

_Of all the things…_

She sighs as he commandeers her unwittingly towards the exit,

'We _are _shopping…' she begins in protest, but he cuts her off with a disdainful laugh,

'I meant _properly,' _he opens the door for her and gestures that they step outside; then dragging her over to the bazaar stalls he starts to paw zealously through a tray of beaded jewelry, slipping rings on and off his fingers in a transaction which Ashe highly doubts the legality of,

_Only Balthier…_

She sighs and begins to walk her fingers gently up his back as he drags forwards another tray of bracelets,

'Can we not move on?' she purrs in his ear, hoping to manipulate him, but he takes her hand and fondly slips a coloured glass ring onto her finger, alike to the ones he sports on his corresponding hand,

'I'll not be swayed _that _easily, princess' he chuckles while removing her wrist guard, 'perhaps men of _weaker resolution_ bend under that pretty pout of yours,' she flushes slightly and he drapes a charm bracelet over her wrist, 'but _I_ am made of firmer stuff.' He delicately fastens the clasp and lifts her arm up to study the adornment in the light; it is a fine silver chain with small life crystals hanging off the links, they glow with magik and chime sinuously against each other as she drops her hand,

'Very well,' she announces, turning to pull a gold hoop from the display, '_come over here then…_' his eyes glimmer with intrigue as he takes an obedient step towards her, she slowly removes one of his earrings and replaces it with her chosen replacement. The torturously slow pace combined with her hands stroking down the side of his face and neck takes his mind to some very _illicit_ places, and only when her hands drop away can he think straight again, 'what do you reckon?' she says pointing towards a cracked mirror stood on the stall, he peers into it and laughs at the sight of himself,

'I think it's positively _garish' _he swiftly removes the brash earring and replaces it with his own choice, a tiny charm carved from a piece of bone, 'better no?' he proposes to her as she childishly slides a ring onto every finger and flays her hands in contentment,

'_Perhaps_…' she says indecisively, changing a ring from her thumb onto his little finger, he docilely lets her toy with him as she swaps around their accessories,

_'Perhaps?!_' he cries, 'it's undoubtedly a _considerable_ improvement,' he twists his had slightly to show her this _supposed _enhancement,

'It's an improvement upon _your_ tastes…' she says thoughtfully,

'And what in Ivalice is wrong with _my_ taste!' he snaps playfully,

'Shouldn't we be moving along now?' she suggests as she tries to back away from him and disappear into the crowds,

'Come back here you!' he grabs her hand roughly and drags her bejeweled fingers back towards the stall, 'for one you're about to steal several hundred gil's worth of rings, and _for two_ I'll not stand idly by while the princess in the pink leather skirt three inches _short_ criticizes _my_ taste,' she pulls the rings hastily off her fingers and dumps them back in the basket under the filthy glare of the vendor,

'Leave it be. Please, lets go,' she begs him, wanting to get away from this place quickly before they are accused of _more_ theft and end up in a lot of _unnecessary_ trouble,

'Not before you admit that my taste is _flawless_,' he smirks as his grip tightens around her wrists and his fingers softly brush the underside of her palms, so she leans into him and pulls her hands back, which draws him closer as she tilts her chin up determinedly,

'_Never.' _She whispers, their lips drawing painstakingly close as a burly man with a barrel on one shoulder barges into them, knocking Ashe's hands from those of her captor upon which she finds means to weave further down the busy street. She is inevitably halted after only a brief stint of freedom by a finger hooking round the back of her waist belt, stopping her next to a stall piled high with assorted trinkets, he draws her back and curls himself around her, running his hand down her side and across her hip,

'You'll have to try harder than _that _to get rid of me…' he murmurs just behind her ear, disturbing her hair slightly as he breathes into it,

'Balthier not here,' she replies urgently 'someone could _see'_ he casts an eye across the display and casually plucks a necklace from the pile with his spare hand (the other remaining tightly wrapped around her stomach), it has two cast white-gold plates deigned to curve around the base of the neck, in the center it joins an engraved pennant which tapers down in a number of overlapping shapes, the last of which being a down turned arc that extends out of the sides forming two small 'wings' that point out from the shape as underneath it holds a round pinkish stone inset in another ring of silver; Ashe curses that she insists on wearing that high-collared neck brace all the time because it is astoundingly beautiful and she would have liked to try it on,

'Pretty isn't it?' he asks rhetorically, slowly unwinding her from his grip and trailing the stone gently across her palm as she begins to worry about the time they've wasted, and if it has been noticed that they are _missing_. She is peering desperately through the crowds to see if she sees anyone she recognizes when suddenly she hears an airy trill by her side, distracting her from her fretting she snaps her head around and realizes he has come across a proper Arcadian whistle, and is testing its tuning between rapid discussions with the vendor,

_He's_ _probably lost that exquisite necklace among the rest of that junk now…_

'How much?' she suddenly interrupts their barter, _meaning for the pipe,_ and he gives her an amused glance for speaking so curtly to the domineering woman very obviously running the stall,

'Two thou,' she spits in a hoarse and smoky voice, it is a fair amount but Ashe is feeling whimsical and hands the gil over as the disheveled woman smiles satirically, '_have a_ _nice_ _day_.' Ashe studies the little pipe as she strides down the street towards the Whitecap, their arranged meeting point, and Balthier hops alongside her merrily twisting his new rings around on his fingers,

'It's not worth that much,' he says to her with conviction,

'Perhaps…' she replies carefully; then suddenly stops in the stream of people and holds it out to him, he raises his eyebrows with pleasant surprise despite _knowing_ she intended to give it to him; he gently takes it into his own palm and bows his head at her in thanks, wearing an uncontrollably ecstatic grin as they catch sight of the others sitting around a table outside the tavern.

'Hey, we were just wondering where you guys got to,' Vaan says cheerfully as they approach, amidst a pile of feathers, as he is helping Fran re-flight some poison arrows they have salvaged from previous battles,

'Well, Vaan,' he laments, 'you know what women are like with shopping…_ah_!' Ashe cuffs him roughly around the back of his head,

'Balthier you are the worst liar in Ivalice,' she chides, 'I _am_ _not_ the one here with a jewelry fixation,' she grabs his hand and holds it up for everyone to see, '_look,' _she says waving his fingers about, '_more _rainbow-coloured candy-rings…' he snatches his hand back promptly and storms over and sulks in the shadows,

'_No way_ to treat a leading man…' he mutters darkly, _'no way at all.'

* * *

_

I know this one's not so fluffy but I promise the next will be a fluff-athon on toast :) 


	4. Sew

A fluff-athon was promised, and this is pretty darn fluffy in my opinion so :P

* * *

It is _well_ past midnight, and by all rights Ashe _should_ have been asleep hours ago, however she cannot stop down the workings of her mind and remains completely awake and alert without any signs of tiring. Pacing around her room in the Manse she looks over the same four walls and things again and again, changing into a soft cotton nightdress she brushes her hair (_which makes her think of Balthier,) _washes her face then resumes pacing back and forth until it gets so stuffy inside that she decides to open the doors onto the balcony; a warm sea breeze flushes her lungs and gently tickles her hair around her neck as she detects a low humming carried on the wind, reminiscent of a tune she is _certain_ she has heard before,

_Only being played on a pipe…_

She walks up to the wrought balustrade and leans out to peer onto the balcony next to hers, and sure enough Balthier sits with his feet propped up on the bar with his shirt in his lap,

_In his lap, meaning __not__ on his chest,_

She leans further over the edge to study him in more detail, and she sees his hand moving quickly back and forth over and under the fabric of the shirt,

'_Balthier?_' she gasps inquisitively, causing him to suddenly jump and curse, irritably rubbing his fingers together and sucking the tip of his thumb,

'Ashe, I'm beginning to suspect you are stalking me,' he mutters as he slides his hand back under the shirt, then pokes what she realizes to be a needle through the material, followed by a fine thread,

'Are you _sewing_?' she whispers in surprise as he tucks the needle between his teeth and stretches out the fabric to examine it,

'Full of surprises aren't I?' he mumbles through the pin in his mouth, still engrossed in his work and not looking away from it as she climbs the railings and swings herself around the separating wall onto his balcony, '_careful_…' he gently scolds as she lands clumsily on the platform,

'Tell me…' she asks, 'is there anything you _don't_ do?' Leaning back against the balustrade and _letting_ her eyes stray to his bare chest with the excuse of wanting to see what tear he is mending, she _manages_ to find time to appreciate the rather impressive build of his body; and surprisingly his skin is lightly tanned despite his insistence on wearing long sleeves at all times,

_I expect he suns himself on the roof of the Strahl when he's alone…_

She thinks to her own amusement,

'I am a man of _many_ talents, princess,' he announces as he looks intently down at the shirt, placing neat and careful stitches on either side to make sure it doesn't twist when he pulls it together '_some_ of which you have yet to _experience'_ he smugly adds as she finally separates out the rip he is darning, it is in fact _negligibly_ small,

'That's a rather small hole to go to all this _trouble_ for,' she comments, 'are you always this fastidious?'

'Always.' He repeats quickly, 'and _you're_ the trouble here,'

'Oh…I'm sorry?' She suggests confusedly,

'Not at all,' he dismisses the apology with a wave of his hand, 'whoever said I didn't enjoy it anyway,' he seems content with his mend and breaks the thread off between his teeth, then carefully examines the repair once more before looking at her for the first time this evening, 'I see _you_ are also in need of my _services_,' he announces haughtily, and she wonders if this is some lewd pun when he tucks his fingertip into a tear on her nightdress, 'you appear to have a _hole_ in need of my attention,' she is not sure if she should slap him senseless or laugh, knowing _of course _that he means the dress but unable to ignore his smirk and _wicked_ implications, she decides to assume the _better_ and _ignore_ _the worst _of him,

'Well how would you propose to mend it? Taking into consideration that it is the _only _thing I'm wearing' she asks pragmatically as his fingertip gently caresses her leg through the opening in the fabric,

'Taking it off would be a sensible idea…' he suggests slyly, she shakes her head viciously and knocks away his prying finger, 'fine then,' he sighs, dropping his feet to the floor, 'you may sit on my lap while I repair the damage,'

_May__? Exactly who does he think he is?!_

Unluckily Ashe's desire for the shirtless pirate outweigh her objections at being _granted _the privilege of him, and she sits as he produces a knot of tangled threads, then lays them out on her knee to find the best match of colour to her nightdress. His arms wrap around her as he threads the needle, but it splits on the eye and he holds his forefingers up to he mouth,

'Tongue please,' he says teasingly, she very hesitantly parts her lips when to her confusion he presses his fingers against them and the very tip of her tongue, then pinches the end of the cotton with his damp fingertips as she realizes with mild relief it is to smooth out the fraying end and make it easier to thread the needle. He finds the end of the strand and loops it around his finger, rolling it between the two until it knots; then gently pokes the tip of the needle through a corner of the small tear just above her knee and finally begins to sew. His wrist grazes her upper arm as he extends it to pull the knot secure, but he seems relaxed and in control (as always,) and places precise and neat stitches along the rupture, she occasionally feel the point gently touch her skin as he pushes it though the material. He looks so _focused_ that she mischievously tries to break his concentration by wrapping her arm tightly around his neck and trailing her fingers down the back of it, and suddenly jumps when a sharp point digs into her leg,

'Ow,' she snaps as he rubs his finger comfortingly over the place where he stabbed her with the needle,

'Well stop distracting me then,' he retorts condescendingly, returning his attention back to her dress and its nearly complete state of repair; her head sinks down with boredom as she sighs, then takes in the soothing scent that is _so_ quintessentially _Balthier_. She finds herself wishing she could stay here just feeling his hands brush against her skin and losing herself in everything that is _characteristically_, _comfortingly_, _him._

_He could __die__ tomorrow, but here he is tonight fussing over minute tears in clothing as if there were nothing to worry about __but__ one's appearance in the morning…_

'_Tired_?' he asks as she rests her head against the top of his, tickling her nose with his soft hair,

'Not in the slightest, it's unlikely I'll sleep _at all_ tonight' she answers more honestly than she might suppose, feeling his misplaced ease spread through her like a contagious disease,

'_Oh really?' _he teases, 'then if you would be so kind as to hand me my _belt_,' she bends down and picks it up off the floor as he takes this _opportunity_ to let his eyes stay to her behind,

_Don't touch her, for gods sake do __not__ grab her…_

He warns himself repeatedly until she _eventually_ sits back up and puts _some _of his temptations to rest. He takes the belt from her hands and opens the attached pocket, then with a flourish pulls out something that flashes silver and pink as he holds it up to her,

'_Balthier_…' she whispers in astonishment as the necklace she longed for earlier that day hangs from his outstretched finger, 'when did you…how did…**wait**…_did you pay for that?_' she asks accusingly, but he notices her following it around with her eyes as he swings it from side to side,

'I though you couldn't purchase things of _true_ beauty….' He unclasps the chain and slips it around her neck, delicately hooking it together as the pennant hangs coolly against her flawless skin; although it is fastened he keeps his fingers woven together behind her neck, drawing her ever-so-slightly closer to him,

'And that means that it must automatically be _stolen_?' she asks deviously, stroking her fingers along both the circlet and his arms, making no effort to remove either,

'But of course,' he replies, slowly slipping his hands down until they rest on her lap, then laying one against her back as she shifts to lean further into him,

'Does that apply for princesses then, must they _also_ be stolen?' she whispers as she traces her fingertips softly across chest, following the contours of his body down to his arm where she lets that hand rest, then rubs the fingers of the other over the studs in his ear,

'If I remember correctly, you _asked_ me to abscond with you…' he replies with a knowing grin as he slips his hand _just_ under the hem of her nightdress and gently caresses her warm skin, inching both hem and hand subtly up her leg,

'_So I did_…' she toys with his hair playfully, 'but does that same rule apply to _Queens_?' she knows this may put a dampener on _things_, but is curious to know what _intentions_ he would profess in such a situation,

'I have _yet_ to be the hero of the story, _princess_, what if I need to make a sacrifice for the good of mankind? Then your being a _monarch_ would be of little consequence' he answers mysteriously, making her wonder what _impending doom_ he can so clearly foresee,

'Don't be so morbid,' she anxiously murmurs, holding him tighter as if it were possible to protect him from such a fate, he gladly reciprocates and squeezes her back, _and then_ she feels his lips against her skin as he lightly kisses her collarbone.

'_Que sera sera_, princess,' he whispers, placing his lips as carefully as his stitches, gliding along her shoulder they climb the curve of her neck only breaking contact with her skin when they cross the necklace, she takes a quivering breath and buries her face in his hair, biting her tongue to hold it from whimpering as the hem of her dress slides further up her legs,

'Are you _sure_ about this?' he asks forebodingly, knowing that if he lets this go _any_ further then she won't _have_ a choice about what happens; she tilts his head to the side and presses her lips against his temple, then brings herself level with him,

'_Yes_…' is the word barely snatched from her lips as he instantaneously jumps forwards and clasps her mouth to his, quickly tucking an arm under her legs her lifts her _bridal-style_ and swings her through the open doors of his room; as she cradles her hands around his neck she remembers _Rassler_ couldn't carry her _the full way _to their room after they were wed, but _he _sweeps her effortlessly across the floor; his sense of urgency not because he fears he may drop her but because he needs her _right now_ and can't _(or won't) _wait for another second as he pushes her into the forgivingly soft bed and deftly pulls the nightgown off, discarding it on the floor as their lips crush together and she begins to loosen his trousers. He groans softly as she claws at the sheets and coils her arm desperately around his neck and gasps, forcing her chest up against his as he allows more of his weight to rest on her,

'So you're not going to sleep _at all _tonight are you?' he murmurs enigmatically in her ear,

'_N_o…' she quickly retorts, the grand total of what they are wearing now amounting to _her_ _necklace_,_ 'not a…' _the sentence trails off as he diverts her attention to something far more _pressing_; the moan she had been stifling finally leaping off her tongue and peeling the paintwork with its fervour.

* * *

'Tired?' he asks some _hours_ later, lain with his hands wrapped possessively around her waist as the cool wind through the quietly flapping doors washes away the heat rising off their bodies,

'_No_.' she replies resolutely,

'Then _what _do you propose we do if you _still _can't sleep?' he asks mischievously, sliding his hand along her side to rest in the curve of her side,

'_Perhaps_ we should…' she waywardly begins to suggest, rolling over in his arms and casting her eyes once again over his stripped form,

'What _again!?' _he interrupts theatrically, an eyebrow quirked up at her through the darkness, 'even for a _leading man_, you are demanding rather a…'

'_Of course_ if you don't _want_ to…' she teases, but he continues to roll her over until she lies on top of him, settling her hips comfortably on his he looks at her in false astonishment,

'And _what_ part of knowing me would _ever _suggest I'd _not want_ to pummel the bed sheets with _you_, princess?'

'Well…' she says thoughtfully, running her fingers over his earrings and then his rings (which he is still wearing, _of course_), 'these things _do_…'

'_Don't _answer that,' he interrupts with a grin, 'lest I need to assert my _dominance _on you again…' she sits up and meets his eyes devilishly in the twilight,

'_Go on then…' _she dares, when he lies there and just chuckles at her she adopts a more regal tone,_ 'that is an __order__, Balthier.'_

'_Less noise_,' he scolds, 'I'll sew your lips together if you can't keep quiet.'

* * *

Now for some light-hearted trivia: The necklace is actually the one Ashe is pictured wearing one she becomes the Queen of Dalmasca, (don't believe me see for yourself: googleimage ashe dalmasca and you'll get it isn't that pretty cute? R-E-V-I-E-W :) 


	5. Die

As the sun rises higher in the sky, Balthier sighs contentedly and lightly kisses Princess Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca's forehead as she lies almost motionless next to him in the bed with her eyes closed in an attempted sleep,

'Ashe,' he whispers softly, 'you have to get up now…' she moans and coils herself up tightly in the sheets,

'I'm tired,' she whimpers through the covers,

'Well I'm not surprised,' he chuckles, 'you've been a _very _busy princess,' she moans again and tucks her head further into the linen depths, 'we have to save the world, remember?' he teases, tickling her through the sheets as there comes a sharp knock at the door,

'Don't let them in,' she mumbles from her cocoon, but he doesn't hear her,

'Come in Fran,' he calls out casually, 'I've got _nothing_ to hide…its hiding itself for me,' Ashe hears the weapon-like shoes making contact with the floor as she shifts tighter into a bundle on the bed,

'_Subtle,' _Fran comments sarcastically, 'not least because of the nightdress on the floor…_. Good-morning Your Highness.' _Fran was _in fact_ aware of what had been going on in this room from the moment she woke up, her ears were not _that _dull yet and it was _more_ than obvious, so she decided to pay a visit for naivety's sake,

'Good-morning Fran,' she whines as her head starts spinning from the lack of oxygen under the sheets,

'I took the courtesy of brining her belongings along,' a pack hits the floor with a dull thud,

_I really do far to much for him…_

She laments,

_Just once I'd like to see him get out of a difficult situation all by himself._

After Fran _finally_ leaves (not before having an avid conversation with her partner about her night's sleep, the weather, the flying conditions, what time everyone _else _got up, what's for breakfast etc…) Ashe starts to unwind herself from the enveloping blankets, sleepily crawling onto the floor and beginning to slowlydress herself, so slowly that Balthier laughs to see the poor tired girl struggle to get her top and various straps over her head,

'Oh _honestly_!' he exclaims merrily, dragging himself from the warm haven of the bed and lifting her limp arms above her head as he dresses her like a toddler, 'you spent _all night _in bed, you can't really be _that_ tired…'

'Balthier, did you _happen_ to notice how much of that time I actually spent _sleeping?' _she asks satirically as his hands inadvertently run across her chest I the process of dressing her,

'_Hm_m, fair deuce,' he surmises, gently kissing her neck just above the clasp of the necklace that still hangs around it,

'I should have known better than to climb over that balcony…' she mutters to herself as her eyelids begin to droop again,

'Now don't say that,' he says, unfastening the necklace and pooling it in her palm as he attaches her neck brace, 'you wouldn't have this lovely trinket to show this morning if you'd stayed in your room,'

'But I'd be free of all these _aches_ you've caused me,' she retorts, rubbing her legs methodically as she stands, 'I _assume_ you will follow me down separately so as not to raise any unnecessary suspicion?'

'And why would I do that?' he sighs, 'this is the _end_ of our journey, Ashe, I do _not _intend to spend it pussyfooting around behind you; let the others _assume_ what they may and allow me to escort you downstairs if you would be so kind as to wait a short time while I ready myself,' her judgment tells her to go and salvage her reputation while her heart pushes her to stay, she favors the heart and her sense of humor when he appears comically helpless on the matter of fastening his vest, she roughly tugs the buckles together across his back with a smirk,

_Never the most practical of dressers…_

'After…all of this,' she off-handedly mentions as he exhales, allowing her to yank the vest closer together, 'both you and Fran will be welcome in the palace…'

'_Oh_,' he says craftily

'That is as _guests _not _thieves_' she hastily adds, picturing the empty treasure room _post-Balthier,_

'Then you will need to find another _lure _for me, princess' he catches her hands and winds them around his stomach, squeezing them tightly she lets her head rest against his back and her eyelids flutter closed '_fine…' _he mutters affectionately, '_you may have it __your__ way, Ashe' _he whispers as he turns her into his arms, then moves her to the bed and quietly leaves the room so as not to wake _his _sleeping princess.

'Hey, Balthier' Vaan says as he finally shows his face downstairs, 'have you seen Ashe?' Balthier _could _make remarks about just _how much _he's seen of her recently, but manages to hold his tongue,

'Her Highness is sleeping.' He states unassumingly, 'and I think that if she is to be of _any_ use to us in battle we ought to let her slumber some more, '

'What a _pity_ it is then, that the Bahamut will not wait,' she calls out irritably from behind him as she rejoins the group outside, 'lovely _sentiment_, Balthier, but careless considering the severity of the situation,' he opens his mouth to react to her criticism but Vaan interrupts him,

'Great lets go.' He comments a _little_ over assumingly, but it is _overlooked_ as they make haste to the aerodrome.

Much to the pilot's amusement Ashe falls asleep in her chair during the takeoff, and sleeps for a few blissful hours as they plot a course for Rabanastre before awakening in the middle of a battlefield with a violent shock,

'Is that the Bahamut?' she gasps as the dark tornado creeps closer to Rabanastre,

'Yup,' Vaan says from the next seal along, then hands her Balthier's novel microphone, 'tell your uncle you are here, Ashe, he must be worried about you,' Vaan's serious tone frightens her slightly, it is almost like he is readying himself to take control should Balthier _disappear…_.

* * *

And we all know what happens next don't we :(

Still hate the ending of this game...


	6. Forge

This is 'sort of' the last chapter, basically it's finished unless I have a REALLY good idea (which I won't) and to an epilouge or what-have you,

This works around the theory that Balthier is still not accepted in the palace what with being a sky-pirate-and-all so he and Ashe find another way to meet up ;)

* * *

'Your highness.' The guard stiffly states, 'our prisoner has escaped,'

'Again,' Queen Ashelia Dalmasca sighs offhandedly, 'I wonder if you bother locking the doors_ at all,_'

'We run routine checks every hour, your highness, but this one just seems to be able to worm his way out of anywhere…' the poor guard blushes at the inadequacy of his own superiors in keeping prisoners in the prisons, especially in front of the _distractingly_ beautiful Queen,

'He is probably in the gardens by now, take a watch out there and scan the area, I am going to my study and then I shall retire for the night,' she sweeps the papers she rather foolishly left to asses at the last minute into her arms and goes to leave the room,

'Do you want accompaniment_?' _The young guard blurts, '_I mean!_ In case he is still in the palace…' he bites his tongue at suggesting that his Queen would want or _need _any protection from him, _gods why does she have to be so pretty_…he thinks as she sways out of the door and briefly turns around,

'I am fine thank-you…what is your name?' she inquires offhandedly,

'Weiss…' the boy stutters, his breath chocked and shallow for some inexplicable reason,

'No your first name…' she cajoles, making a point of trying to connect with the people who work in the palace as they 'are' the backbone of Dalmasca after all. However, she _also_ enjoys feeling she can still turn men into quivering wrecks from time to time: especially after her encounters with a certain 'mentionable' man, who was so unfazed by anything she threw at him…even _herself_.

'Um…' he freezes up, it's not that he can't rememberhis name, but his mouth refuses to form the syllables of it,

'Very well,' she dismisses him, 'good-night private Weiss,' he hurriedly bows to her, nearly losing his helmet in the process,

'Good-night Your Majesty…' he mumbles, desperately wanting to simply disappear and never have to face his monarch again…well not for a while at least.

Ashe climbs the dangerously steep spiraling staircase of the Palace with her files balanced precariously on one hand as the other tightly grips the banister, fearing that with one slip her country could be without a leader once more; heaving a sigh of relief as the floor levels out she counts the doors until she reaches what _was _a library, but now has been adopted as her study because of her strong dislike for her father's choice of décor in the assigned bureau of the Palace, blindly placing a hand on the handle she stumbles over the threshold and spills the highly important and confidential documents all over the flooring; muttering a curse she stoops down and kicks the door shut behind her, scooping up the wretched papers and going to place them on her desk when she notices something lying on it, something that really _ought_ _not_ be there,

'How did you get _here_?' she asks condescendingly, placing the files on the corner of the tabletop currently being dominated by this inefficient ornament,

_'I walked_…how else does any good escaped convict find his way to the Queen's study after being stripped of his freedom?'

'I need to review these armistice papers, then order 'our' plan for unified disarmament among the empires…so you will have to move _off _my desk, Balthier.' She explains severely to the pirate, who sighs nonchalantly and inspects his rings with an air of superiority; sprawled along the full length of the desk and propped up on one elbow he looks like he's going _nowhere _fast,

'You mean you had me locked up so I could act as a glorified paperweight, _princess,' _he calls her by her former title, now both a tease and nickname much to her irritation,

'I had you imprisoned because last time you paid a visit you saw fit to _liberate _nearly ten thousand gil's worth of artifacts from the treasury on your way out...which I am still awaiting the return of,' she mentions spitefully as she searches the drawers of the desk for a quill, then looking up sees _every one_ of them stuck behind his ear, giving his appearance an even more colourful lilt,

'_That_ was compensation.' He retorts bluntly, selecting one of the feathers from his collection and presenting it to her with a smile,

'_For?_' Kleptomaniac pirates taking up all the desk space and _liberating _everything in sight are nothigh on the list Ashe's priorities,

'_**FOR**__!?' _He hollers, dropping down off his elbow and taking those important papers hostage with his shoulder as he gives her a disdainful look, 'for _allowing _myself to be captured by you in the first place! The bounty on my head is likely to drop if you demand another audience with me before I sort out this Cache of Glabados business,' he complains bitterly,

'How is that going?' she inquires as she tugs at the corner of a disarmament policy trapped underneath his heavy shoulder blade,

'Awful, just awful…' he laments, 'we're being lead on a wild goose chase, I'm sure of it. And _Vaan _is constantly pestering me with that new airship of his, if it weren't for Penelo I swear he would've crashed it by now, doesn't know his skystone from his minestrone that boy…' Ashe's attempted distraction encourages the torrent of gabble she expected, but fails to give him cause to release her papers,

'I see…**Balthier**!' she suddenly snaps as another strip tears off the demands made by Rozzaria on Arcadia's use of manufacted Nethicite in their airships, 'if you are serving as a paperweight it is a very _poor _one, a _good _paperweight allows you to get your documents _back. _As I said these are very important and need signing _tonight_…'

'Then sign them and be done with it,' he comments airily, idly playing with another of her quills, tickling her nose with the tip of the feather and tracing around the side of her face, paying particular attention to a certain necklace that Her Majesty seems to wear constantly these days: silver with a large pink stone set in the pennant, another thing he _liberated _on her majesty's behalf,

'I have not read them yet and I will do no such thing until I have,' she demands, inviting only another exhausted sigh from him as he finally returns her papers,

'Do you realize how very _uncomfortable_ those cells are?' he carps to the ceiling as he rolls onto his back, taking up even more of the desk,

'They're not supposedto be luxurious,' she mutters, 'they're supposed to make you penitent…'

'What do **I** have to be penitent about?' he asks hyperbolically,

'Stealing from your own lover.' She retorts, 'it's a wonder I ever let you back in here…'

'Perhaps you should have thought twice before giving me a key then,' he remarks, tucking a finger into his collar and withdrawing a fine silver chain from which a brassy key hangs from,

'Perhaps I should have thought twice about abolishing _hanging,' _she taunts unfortunately holding enough power in her pretty little fingers to do very undesirable things to him and pirates alike,

'Tyrant…' he mutters as he draws up his feet and crumples another sheaf of papers, nearly knocking over an ink well in the process,

'Gods Balthier, you are _so _unhelpful!' she spits as she grabs the toppling bottle of dark liquid before it spills everywhere,

'I never intended to be of _assistance_…' he comments slyly as he slides one of the documents to be signed out of the pile, then picks up another one already signed and studies the two as he sucks the nib on a quill, 'merely an entertainment,' he lays the papers out flat and sits up cross-legged as he dips the quill in the inkwell, unnoticed by Ashe who is tryingto decipher Al-Cid Margrace's atrocious handwriting; he curls his body over until his jaw is level with his hand as he presses the nib to the paper and begins to form sweeping letters on the parchment,

'What are you doing?!' She screams as he continues to scribble on the arrangement of sharing research information about the study and use of Nethicite in any form between nations taking part in the unification of…etc, etc…

'Assisting…' he mumbles as with a flourish he finishes his graffiti, but when he sits up she recognizes the scrawl as her own signature, copied almost exactly by his hand,

'Forgery as well…' she sighs, and leans back in her chair with helplessness as he seizes the pile then quickly and efficiently places a perfect signature on each, tapping the papers into a neat pile he climbs off of the desk and lays them out neatly in the center of the table,

'Now _that _wasn't so hard was it?' he says as she cradles her head in her hands,

_That is not a skill likely to bring me anything fortuitous…_

'You realize tha…' after organizing everything so neatly Balthier suddenly sweeps it all off the desk, clattering noisily to the floor as he gives her a decidedly wicked smile and pulls her to her feet, turning her around so the edge of the table digs into the back of her legs he encloses her with his arms,

'All work and no play makes _Ashe_ a very dull princess…' he whispers suggestively,

'_Queen,' _she corrects, 'and this is certainly not the place to…' he kisses her with total ignorance of her last comment; after what he's endured he can do whatever he likes with the ruler of Dalmasca,

_Honestly, allowing myself to be caught and arrested every time she beckons…just so the people don't realize what she's up to. I ought to be ashamed of myself, whatever happened to pride?_

He remembers _exactly _what happened to pride when H.R.H. gives up and kisses him back with equal passion, forcing her up onto the desk he feels the catches of his vest unlocking under the twists of her fingers,

'You are going to be the _death_ of me,' he mumbles as a guard passes close by the door: Private Weiss really ought to have looked in and checked on the Queen, but after his earlier embarrassment shirks his duty and hurries past the study without discovering that she is busily undressing a wanted fugitive,

'You've already proven your adeptness at avoiding death once before, surely a repeat performance wouldn't be too much to ask,' she teases just before she finds herself lain flat on her back over the cool polished surface, with him hanging above her forebodingly,

'It'll cost you,' he replies as he slips one of her bracelets off, 'this _might_ cover it…'

'Scoundrel…' she sighs with a quick glance at the door as she snatches the bangle back from his omnipresent fingers,

_This is certainly a 'compromising' situation to be found in…_

'Ah, but you _love_ me for it.' He announces slyly, and try as she might Ashe couldn't deny that one.

* * *

The next morning Queen Ashe met the committee along with her sheaf of illegally signed papers, circles underlining her stormy eyes she spends most of the morning smiling contentedly to herself and diverting all questions to Larsa, who luckily was able to cover for her albeit being slightly confused by dreamlike state, 

'Are you quite alright, Lady Ashe?' he asks under his breath, concerned that the stress of ruling a nation may be becoming too much for her,

'I am fine…' she sighs as her eyes caress the skies out of the window, _'never better.'_


End file.
